


some remarkable thing

by shinelikestars



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Heidi is a good mom, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Tree Bros, boys who are Not Well but are doing their best, galaxy girls, kind of a boarding school au too, our favorite sarcastic ass aka jared
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinelikestars/pseuds/shinelikestars
Summary: as if having crippling anxiety didn't separate him enough from the rest of his peers, evan hansen has superpowers, too. fucking great.(aka the one where evan goes to a boarding school for teens with powers and meets some friends [and a boyfriend] along the way)





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> i am now working on 3 different DEH fics at once so updates may not be super consistent, but i will do my best! thanks for reading. :) 
> 
> xo,  
> L

_one._

The enormous building is so terrifying, and Evan knows that it’s silly, knows that it’s just five stories of brick and mortar, but he can’t stop his heart from pounding, can’t stop his hands from going sweaty and throat from closing up with fear as their car pulls into the driveway of the school. _LaSalle Academy for Gifted Youth_ , the giant sign propped over the wrought-iron gate reads.

 

He can feel his mom’s concerned eyes drifting to him from her spot in the driver’s seat. “Everything okay, sweetie?” she says, reaching over to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Evan doesn’t trust himself to speak, just nods and picks at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. 

 

“This is gonna be good, Ev,” his mom tells him. “Finally, you get to be with other kids like you! You’re gonna have a great year, sweetheart.” Her voice is so eager and bright that Evan _wants_ to believe her, really he does, but something in him just won’t allow him to. Maybe it’s because they both know it’s a lie — nobody gets to have a great year in the Hansen family. There haven’t even been any halfway-decent years since his dad left them when Evan was six. He knows his mom wants the best for him, wants to think that sending him off to a boarding school to harness his weird, freaky powers along with a hundred-something other teenagers “like him” will solve everything, will cure the anxiety, the self-hatred and Xanax dependency, but deep down, can’t she see the truth? Can’t she see that he’ll never get better, that he’ll never be brave enough, that his powers will never help anybody? If he can’t even help himself, how is he supposed to help other people?

 

Fifteen minutes later, Evan finds himself hugging his mother goodbye as he stands outside the door of Room 1216, striped duffel bag and blue suitcase carefully placed on the floor next to him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help you unpack, honey?” his mom asks, worry written all over her face.

 

“N-no, Mom, it’s fine,” he insists, trying desperately to inject as much confidence into his voice as he can. “I should p-probably meet my roommate by myself, right? H-he’ll think I’m lame if I need my mom there for that.” His mother’s face relaxes, Evan's acting like a normal teenage boy for once having temporarily assuaged her worries, and she pulls him in for another hug. She smells like gardenias, and Evan’s chest automatically tightens at the thought of not being able to smell that scent until Thanksgiving. Two months suddenly seems like an awfully long time.

 

His mom pulls away from their hug, searching his face for any glimpse of fear or doubt, and Evan gives her a small, weak smile, trying his hardest to seem okay, even if everything in his mind is screaming _nopleaseDONTleave_. “I love you, sweetie. Call me once you get settled in,” she finally says, slinging her purse over her shoulder and giving him one last kiss on the cheek.

 

“Okay, Mom. Drive safe!” Evan calls after her as she heads down the hall. The last thing he sees of his mother is a tiny wave goodbye before she disappears into the elevator. 

 

Evan swallows hard. He’s really on his own now. 

 

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself as much as possible, and then knocks once, twice, three times on the large oak door. There’s gouges in the wood, Evan notices, a series of scratches down the front, almost like someone was — 

 

The door swings open, and Evan’s heart begins to pound, even though the boy on the other side is quite possibly the most non-threatening figure out there. He’s kind of short, definitely not taller than Evan, and has short brown hair and two-toned green eyes (heterochromia is a common trait in kids with powers, Evan’s learned, courtesy of the LaSalle Academy informational packet). “Well, aren’t you the picture of confidence,” he deadpans, pushing a pair of square black glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and assume you’re my new roommate?” Evan just nods, brain scrambling but failing to find the words to reply to his roommate, and the other boy sighs.

 

“God, you’re my second roommate of the year already, and I can tell that yet again I’m going to have to be the fun one here,” he says, pushing the door open wider with his foot. “I’m Jared. You can have the bed by the window. Ignore the asshole dressed in black, he’s just here for an English project.” Evan enters the room cautiously, fingers white against the strap of his duffel bag, Jared being surprisingly helpful and hauling in his suitcase behind him.

 

“Has anyone told you lately that you’re an insufferable prick, Kleinman,” said asshole growls. Evan turns to the source of the voice and instantly wonders if his power is stopping time, because he swears the world slams to a halt around him as his eyes land on the lanky boy sitting criss-cross-applesauce on their floor. 

 

Evan is very aware of the fact that he probably looks like a blubbering idiot right now, but for once, he couldn’t care less about that. This boy is _beautiful_ , with dark shoulder-length curls, icy blue eyes splotched with brown, and delicate features only offset by his strong nose and defined jaw. He’s got a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks and nose, and his skin’s nearly translucent, its pale hue even more emphasized by his all-black ensemble (the combat boots make him look a little meaner, Evan thinks). Maybe this is what his mom had meant by love at first sight — 

 

Evan shakes his head, jolting himself out of that particularly dangerous train of thought. Love at first sight isn’t real, he reminds himself, and he barely knows this boy. He doesn’t even know his name.

 

“Um, do you have issues I should know about?” Jared interrupts, firmly bringing him crashing back into reality. “Cuz, not to be an ass and all, but you kind of went all space cadet for a good minute there.” Evan’s cheeks heat, the curly-haired boy scoffing softly at Jared’s comment.

 

“N-no, no, I’m fine,” he mumbles, hurrying to his bed so he can distract himself with the task of unpacking.

 

“Life tip, Kleinman — when you have to say ‘not to be an ass and all’, you’re usually being an ass.”

 

“Fuck off, Murphy.” Evan’s hands shake as he unfolds his favorite striped polo, the palpable tension between the two other boys already setting him on edge, and he jumps a little when Jared taps him on the shoulder. “Here’s your suitcase,” he says, tossing it onto the bed. Then he grabs his arm, spins him around so he’s facing the curly-haired boy, and continues, “This is Connor Murphy, voted Most Likely to Become a School Shooter in eighth grade and also the biggest pain in my ass since my ex. If I were you, I’d stay far, far away from him.”

 

“W-why is he in your room, then?” Evan can’t help but ask.

 

“ _Our_ room — ” Jared starts to correct.

 

“English project,” Connor cuts in. “Kleinman likes to pretend he’s good at everything and not just math, but unfortunately for him, derivatives can’t help you interpret the symbolism in _To Kill a Mockingbird_. English is the only subject I actually care about, and we got partnered together, so here we are.” 

 

“Yeah, fuck you, Connor, I know you’d rather be off getting high but excuse _me_ for not being able to explain the ‘ _symbolism’_ behind a fucking _tree_ —”

 

“You’re just lucky I’m helping you instead of kicking your ass — ”

 

“Yeah, like you could actually beat me in a fight, you fucking beanpole — ”

 

“Hah, _try_ me, Kleinman — ”

 

It’s too much, the loud voices and arguing and cursing all creating a sort of sensory overload for Evan, and he can’t even fight the sudden urge that wells up in him to get _out_. He abandons his packing and rushes out of the room, leaving the door open behind him. His chest has gone so tight that he can barely breathe, and Evan knows a panic attack is coming on; his thoughts have all centered around getting somewhere he can be _alone_ , somewhere quiet. 

 

The bathroom is his first thought, but being the new kid and everything, he has absolutely no idea where that would be, so he asks the first people he sees, two boys probably around his age, maybe a year younger than him, one in a striped T-shirt and cardigan, the other in a red hoodie with headphones around his neck. “E-excuse me,” he manages to get out, “w-w-where’s the bathroom?”

 

The two boys share a confused glance but point him in the right direction. After a couple minutes of panicky speed-walking, Evan spots the bright white sign that reads “BATHROOM”, and he speeds up, doing his best to get there before he completely collapses — 

 

but then he gets knocked to the ground, slamming into what is most definitely another person, a high-pitched voice letting out an _“oof”_ as they both land on the floor.

 

_You fucked up, you’re such an idiot, you fuck everything up, you’re going to do so badly at this school, you’re terrible you’re awful you’reterribleawfulterrible_ — 

 

Tears spill from Evan’s eyes as his mind starts to go fuzzy and he knows he’s starting to have a panic attack. He can’t breathe, hecan’tbreathehecan’tbreathe, and everything is so _hot_ , it’s like a sauna in here, and he’s gasping for air, desperate for even the tiniest hit of oxygen, and then, out of nowhere, someone’s hands, cool, dry, hands are cupping his face.

 

It’s the person he knocked over, a girl, and he wants to ask her what he’s doing on the boys’ floor, but he can’t focus, still trying to breathe. “You’re okay,” she says, soft and soothing. “Let me help you.” 

 

Suddenly, Evan’s no longer on the floor of the boys’ dormitory of LaSalle Academy. He’s sitting in a field, a vibrant, green field dotted with wildflowers. Then the field shifts and changes, and he’s standing in the middle of an orchard — an apple orchard, he realizes as he glances at the trees around him. 

 

He lets his back slide down the tree he's standing in front of, the bark scratching at his skin through his polo, and hugs his knees to his chest. The scent of apples fills the air, and Evan stares up at the big blue sky, tries to center his thoughts around that, focuses on the beauty around him and tries to forget the ugliness of his life, at least for a little while.

 

It works. Little by little, his heart begins to slow to a normal rate, his breath starts to steady, and Evan can feel the fog lifting, the haze of anxiety abandoning him. Finally, panic has gotten its claws out of his chest, and the pressure dissipates. 

 

Then the bright blue sky goes white, the trees turning into the brown walls of LaSalle Academy, and the orchard disappears around him, Evan somehow back on the floor of the boys’ hallway again, the girl still holding his face. Illusions must be her power, he thinks.

 

He scoots backward a little, forcing her to drop her hands, as he stammers out, “H-how did you know? How did you know that would calm me down?” He takes a long look at the girl before him, dressed in a white top and jeans with stars doodled on the cuffs, takes in her glowing face and the gentle curve of her lips, and wonders if he’s somehow been sent a guardian angel. Because this girl _is_ angelic, in a way.

 

Who is he kidding. God or whoever’s sitting up in the clouds doesn’t like him enough for that.

 

She gives him a sad sort of smile and says, “The orchard’s always been a safe place for me. My brother and I used to go there all the time with our parents before it shut down. I kind of just took a shot in the dark and hoped it would help you.” Before Evan can respond, the girl extends a hand, and her illusion must’ve done a number on his trust issues because he doesn’t hesitate to grab it, the cool dryness of her palm in sharp contrast to his sweaty, overheated skin as she helps him to his feet. 

 

“You still look pretty out of it. Maybe you should come with me,” she suggests. “I’m just on my way to my brother, he’s in someone else’s room right now and I need to give him something.”

 

Evan goes slack-jawed. “Um, but I, I don’t even know you,” he says, stupidly.

 

Thankfully, the girl laughs at that and sticks out her hand again. Evan shakes it. “I’m Zoe,” she says warmly. “And you are?”

 

“Evan Hansen.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Evan Hansen. Now will you come with me?” 

 

And so that’s how he ends up wandering the halls with the prettiest girl he’s ever met.

 

••••

“My brother’s kind of an asshole,” Zoe says as they round a corner, “but the guy he’s working on this project with is marginally more tolerable. He’s a teddy bear on the inside, really, but he tries to hide all that with sarcasm and dumb jokes.”

 

“He sounds like k-kind of a nightmare.” Evan falls back to let Zoe take the lead; he gets the feeling they’ve almost reached their destination. 

 

Zoe chuckles and replies, “He might seem like it, but he’s been in jazz band with me for years. I promise, he’s really not that bad. You might even like him.” They stop in front of a room, Zoe rapping out a little song on the door, and Evan’s blood goes cold as he reads the number tacked onto it. _Room 1216_. That’s his new room — oh, God, does that mean that — 

 

The door swings open, and of course it’s Jared standing there. “Hey, Zoe, and — roomie?” Jared laughs, and Evan’s face immediately flushes. “Wow, new roomie’s already scoring with the ladies, and not just _any_ lady, but the best of the best at that. You’ll have to teach me your ways, dude, cuz I gotta say, I’m pretty fuckin’ impressed.”

 

Zoe arches a brow and turns to Evan. “I didn’t know Jared was your roommate.”

 

“I’m new here,” he mumbles sheepishly, refusing to meet her eyes. “I—I just met him, like, twenty minutes ago.” 

 

“Ah, so that’s why we hadn’t met before. LaSalle isn’t _that_ big of a school, I had my suspicions about you,” she grins back at him, and Evan’s just relieved that Jared’s joking hasn’t pissed her off or made her uncomfortable around him.

 

“So, tell me, how’d you win her over so quickly? I mean, it _definitely_ wasn’t the khakis,” Jared says. Evan’s cheeks flame. Zoe just rolls her eyes, flips him the bird, and pushes past the shorter boy to get into their room. Evan trails behind her, watching as she makes her way to the couch, where his worst nightmare is confirmed — yup, Zoe is Connor Murphy’s sister. How the hell are _they_ related, he wonders — their personalities are like night and day. Even if they’re both equally gorgeous, which, ugh, is a problem.

 

Connor’s lounging on their sofa, feet dangling over the edge as he flicks a lighter on and off with one hand. Zoe snatches it from him, muttering, “ _Jesus_ , Connor, you’re not even a pyro, what the fuck.” Connor’s lip curls into a snarl at that, but he doesn’t say anything back, just watches with a bored expression as his sister pulls a letter out of her pocket. From what Evan can tell, it’s already been opened.

 

Jared closes the door and stands next to him, the two of them watching from a safe distance as Connor quickly scans the letter, then barks out a humorless laugh. “Our parents are so ridiculously fucking dramatic,” he scowls, settling back into the sofa. “Why can’t they just send a text or call like normal people? It’s not like they can’t afford an unlimited data plan for their daily rants.”

 

Zoe sighs, her exasperation evident as she rubs at her temples. “Well, we’re not exactly normal people, Connor, we’re at an academy for freaks, for God’s sake,” Jared tries to joke. 

 

The Murphy siblings shoot him simultaneous death glares, and Evan’s roommate instantly shuts up. 

 

Zoe grabs the letter back from her brother, shoving it into the pocket of her jeans and probably crumpling it in the process, and heads towards the door. She pauses when she reaches Evan, face softening as she says, “Hopefully I’ll see you at dinner tonight, but if not, then good luck with your first day tomorrow.” 

 

Evan nods wordlessly, and she leaves the room, door shutting quietly behind her. 

 

There’s a beat of silence, Evan looking from Jared to Connor and then back to Jared, and then Connor gets up. “This project was a fucking waste anyway,” he hisses in Jared’s direction, stalking past the two of them without so much as a goodbye.

 

This time, the door slams hard enough to make the walls shake.

 

“What’s your name again? I don’t think I caught it the first time,” Jared says.

 

“Oh, um. I’m Evan.”

 

Jared grins almost manically and spreads his arms out, gesturing to the room around them. “Well, welcome to LaSalle, Evan.” 

 

Evan decides in that moment. He won’t be staying here much longer.

 

Or, at least, he doesn’t want to. He kind of gets the feeling the universe has a different plan for him. The perks of being a “superhero”, he supposes.

 

That’s one plan he knows he’s not ready for.


	2. two

_two._

For the second time in just a few hours, Evan finds himself immensely grateful for Zoe Murphy. She’s saved him yet again, helping him on this occasion by reserving him a seat at her table and waving him over from across the room at dinner. While LaSalle Academy’s not massive, there’s still a good two hundred-something students, and it’s enough to create a bit of a swarm of people at dinner time. Evan had been worried he’d get lost in the crowd, but Zoe had come through, and as he makes his way to her table, tray of meatloaf clutched tightly in his hands, he acknowledges how incredibly thankful he already is to have her in his life.

 

“Hey, Evan,” Zoe says brightly, giving him a warm smile as he walks up to her table. It’s just her, another girl, and Jared, leaving two empty seats. Evan wonders if anyone else would normally sit there — does Connor typically join them? Whose space is he intruding on today?

 

He does his best to force the thoughts out of his head and sits next to Jared, who looks mildly pleased to see him there, even if Evan is just slightly upset that he didn’t invite him to sit with them himself. He’s his _roommate_ — isn’t he supposed to do things like that? Then again, Zoe is probably the exception around here, not the standard — he shouldn’t come to expect kindness from his peers, not if he doesn’t want to get hurt.

 

Zoe turns to the girl next to her, who sports a high ponytail and a shining white grin that contrasts beautifully with her dark complexion. Evan can feel himself blushing a little — he’s got to be the ugliest person at this school. “Alana, this is Evan,” Zoe says. “Evan, this is Alana. We’ve been friends for about a year now. Evan’s new here.” 

 

Alana beams at him and sticks out her hand, Evan’s second handshake of the day. Her grip is surprisingly tight, and Evan flinches a little, letting out a small, relieved sigh when she finally lets go. “Hi, Evan! Alana Beck. Nice to meet you,” she chirps. 

 

Zoe seems satisfied with their interaction and looks around the table, eyes lingering for a second on the empty seat. “So I figured, to help Evan get a little more comfortable around here, maybe we could all go around and say three things about ourselves? Like, what our power is, where we’re from, and our favorite color?” she suggests. Jared groans, but in a scene that gives Evan déjà-vu from earlier, Zoe shoots him a death glare that has him quiet in seconds.

 

“I’ll start,” Alana volunteers. “My power is intelligence, I’m from New York City, and my favorite color is purple.” 

 

“Lana’s way too humble,” Zoe interrupts. “She’s not just intelligent — she’s a fucking _genius_. Like a human supercomputer.” Alana flushes a bit, shy under Zoe’s spotlight, but doesn’t protest. Evan can kind of appreciate that — at least she’s honest about her strengths.

 

“My turn. My power is illusions, as Evan has obviously already seen,” Zoe says lightly. “I’m from Rochester, New York, and my favorite color is indigo.”

 

“So unnecessarily specific,” Jared mutters, earning himself another glare.

 

Evan nearly chokes on his dinner when he fully processes what Zoe’s said. “Wait — you’re from R-Rochester?” he manages to get out.

 

Zoe nods.

 

“ _I’m_ from Rochester,” Evan says incredulously.

 

Zoe laughs. “That’s awesome! I’ve never met anyone around here from my hometown before, aside from my brother, obviously. Good to see another local.” She pauses, then adds, “ _Please_ tell me you’ve been to À La Mode.”

 

Evan frowns. “N-no. I don’t think I’ve been there.”

 

Zoe leans forward, elbows planted firmly on the table, clearly spurred on by his response. “Oh my God, okay, when we go home for Thanksgiving break, we’re meeting up and I’m taking you there. Who cares if it’s November — there’s never a wrong time for ice cream,” she says excitedly. 

 

“F-fine, but only if I get to take you to Ellison State Park,” he counters.

 

“ _Jesus_ , we’ll have to wait till spring break for that or we’ll freeze our asses off!” Zoe retorts, the two of them bursting into giggles, Alana and Jared looking on with expressions Evan can’t quite decipher. 

 

“Can we get back to the stupid bonding exercise?” Jared whines. “I’d seriously rather do that than listen to you two commiserate over crap I’ve never heard of.”

 

“Agreed,” Alana nods. Jared’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at that, and Evan gets the sense that they don’t agree a lot of the time. 

 

“Anyway,” Jared continues, “I’m a shapeshifter, I’m from NYC too, and my favorite color is orange.”

 

“That’s one you don’t hear all that often,” Alana comments. “Is it because Halloween is your favorite—”

 

“ _No_ , it’s not because Halloween is my favorite holiday,” Jared says indignantly. “Jesus, I get that every time. It’s because, um—” His cheeks begin to turn pink, and Evan’s more than a little taken aback by that. From what he’s seen so far, his roommate only has two modes: Sarcasm Mode or Quiet Mode. He hasn’t seen any sort of emotional vulnerability from him, at least not up until now.

 

“It reminds me of the sunset, and I like that because I used to watch the sunset with my sister every day back when I still lived at home,” he finishes, words all strung together in a rush. Alana cocks her head, clearly having a hard time understanding him, but Jared doesn’t attempt to clarify or re-explain, just ducks his head and goes back to munching on kettle chips.

 

There’s a beat of silence, Jared’s abnormal behavior throwing them all off a little, and Evan gets a little squirmy in his seat, uncomfortable with the quiet. Alana, thank God, takes note of the awkwardness and smiles at Evan. “Last but not least!”

 

“Um, okay, well, I-I’m from Rochester, l-like I said earlier, and, um, my favorite color is blue.” Evan tucks his hands under his legs, praying the others won’t notice how sweaty and shaky they are. 

 

“And what’s your power?” Alana asks. 

 

Evan freezes, a flood of images barreling through his mind all at once. _Blood. A forty-foot tree. The park. The snap of bone. Breathing, quiet breathing. A faint blue glow…_

 

He exhales shakily and mumbles, “Uh, I-I heal things. Like people, I guess. O-or anything that’s hurt or sick.” 

 

“That’s awesome,” Zoe says. “I’m actually kind of jealous. You could do a lot of good in the world with that, Evan.” The panic he feels at hearing that must be written all over his face, because she quickly adds, “No pressure, though.”

 

“Can you heal yourself?” Jared says through a mouth full of chips. Alana’s eyes narrow at the sight, and she quietly scolds him, telling him to close his mouth, which Jared does the exact opposite of.

 

Evan shakes his head. “N-no. I’ve tried, but it — it just doesn’t work.” 

 

“That’d be like the textbook definition of ‘overpowered’ if you _could_ heal yourself, though,” Jared concedes, shaking the last contents of the chip bag into his mouth and crunching loudly. “I mean, think about it, you’d basically be immortal.” 

 

“Well, no, I believe he’d still be susceptible to aging, you can still die of old age,” Alana argues. Jared simply rolls his eyes in response. 

 

“Way to be a killjoy, Beck,” he scoffs.

 

“So, how’d you find out about your powers, Evan?” Zoe questions, leaning forward on her elbows. “You got a pretty late start on this whole academy thing — I mean, we’ve all been going to some variation of a superhero academy for years, and until you came along, Jared was the latest bloomer, he found out about his powers in seventh grade. You’re a senior, plus you’re here three weeks into our school year, which makes me think it probably came as kind of a surprise, right?” 

 

Evan tries to focus on his breathing. _In, out. In, out. In, out._ “Um, I—I-I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s okay?” It comes out as more of a question, and his voice is shaky as ever, but Zoe just nods, gives him a soft _“Sure”_ , and changes the subject.

 

“Do you have your schedule yet?” Zoe reaches into the pocket of her jeans, like she’s digging around for something, but apparently comes up empty as she frowns and pulls her hand away. “I thought I’d brought a map of the school so I could help you figure out where your classes are, but I guess I left it in my room.”

 

“Oh, I don’t have my schedule yet,” Evan says, brow furrowing. “I think I’m supposed to pick it up at the front office tomorrow?” 

 

“I’ll go with you,” Alana offers. “I don’t have a first block tomorrow, anyway — I go to the local college on Tuesdays and Thursdays for a Constitutional Law class, but tomorrow’s Monday, so.” Evan’s caught off guard by the kind gesture, and Alana must read it as hesitation, because she goes on to say, “I can help you figure out where your classes are and everything, and give you whatever notes you might need.”

 

“T-thanks, Alana. That’s really nice of you.” Evan shoots her a small smile, and Alana reciprocates with a wide smile in return. 

 

Jared’s on his phone now, fingers flying furiously across the screen, and he lets out a curse, shoulders slumping. “Fuck, I’m never gonna finish this stupid English project,” he groans. “Your brother totally let me down, Zoe.”

 

“Oh, um, s-speaking of English — will I be in Connor and Jared’s class?” Evan blurts out without thinking. His hand flies to his mouth the moment he says it, his entire body cringing as he instantly wishes he could take back the words, especially once he sees the confused looks on his tablemates’ faces. 

 

“Um, I dunno,” Zoe shrugs. “You definitely won’t be in mine, though — I’m a year below you guys.” 

 

“If you’re concerned about catching up, don’t worry,” Alana reassures him. “You won’t need to rely on Connor and Jared. I’ll help you, I believe I’m already about a month ahead, anyway — the teacher gives me the work in advance, since I tend to read a little faster than our classmates.”

 

“Alana’s aiming for class valedictorian,” Zoe stage-whispers playfully, “like that’d even be hard for her.”

 

Evan would expect Alana to be flattered by the semi-compliment, but instead, her lips press together in a thin attempt at a smile, eyes suddenly gone shiny. “Um, I just remembered, I wanted to email Professor Keating a first draft of my Con. Law essay tonight,” she says, standing up and grabbing her tray. “I’ll have to excuse myself for the night, unfortunately. Zoe, you can give Evan my number, and Evan, I’ll text you where to meet me in the morning.” Then she’s gone, dumping her tray in the trash and hurrying out of the dining hall, leaving the remaining three of them in shock.

 

“Alana still remembers every formula from freshman year AP Chemistry, there’s no way in hell she forgot about a fucking essay,” Jared scowls. “Wonder what made her run off like that.” Zoe bites her lip, and Evan can tell she’s mulling over the potential effects of her own actions, but she doesn’t give any hints as to what upset the other girl so badly.

 

Jared clearly senses the discussion has run its course and clears his throat. “Happen to know where your wayward brother is, Murphy? We’re supposed to have an outline for our project by Tuesday, and with the way things are going for us right now, I seriously don’t see that happening.”

 

“Yeah, um, s-shouldn’t your brother be here, too, Zoe?” Evan adds. 

 

The younger girl suddenly becomes fascinated with an invisible spot on her jeans. “He usually spends mealtimes in the library,” she says quietly, not meeting his eyes. “He prefers to read and then eat later, alone.”

 

“Fuck, don’t even remind me. I don’t know how he’s even alive, honestly, I’ve only ever seen him eat, like, ramen noodles and shit.” Jared pretends to gag, and Evan can’t help but laugh, his sides starting to ache a little with the force of it. Zoe, however, doesn’t seem to find it very funny.

 

“Doesn’t his roommate mind? I-I mean, those ramen noodles can get really messy, and don’t they kind of smell?” Evan points out once he’s caught his breath.

 

A shadow crosses Zoe’s face, and Evan immediately knows he’s said the wrong thing. He wants to apologize, but Zoe speaks first instead. “Connor doesn’t have a roommate,” she mumbles. Then she’s up in a flash, making her way to the trash can, and Jared and Evan exchange a glance, both of them very aware of the extent to which he’s fucked up.

 

“Nice going, roomie,” Jared mutters. When Evan’s face falls, he rushes to make up for his remark. “I mean, don’t worry about it, she’ll be fine, but — yeah. Connor was assigned a solo room last year,” he explains. “Due to ‘behavioral issues’.” Evan’s roommate uses his fingers to punctuate his last words, and Evan assumes he’s just passing on what the administration had said.

 

He shudders, an unexpected chill in the air. “Why? W-what did he do?”

 

“Oh, God, what _hasn’t_ he done,” Jared sighs, lowering his voice as he catches sight of Zoe, chatting with a blonde-haired girl by the trash can. “Look, Connor’s been _this_ close to getting kicked out of LaSalle like a million times. The only reason he’s still here is that his parents keep shelling out more and more money to the school to convince the headmistress to let him stay. The Murphys are _loaded_.” 

 

Evan wants to hear more, wants to find out more about the mysterious curly-headed boy, but Zoe’s on her way back to the table, and Jared clams up. He can tell that he won’t get anything more out of him, at least not until they return to their room. 

 

Three is an awkward number, and Evan knows this. When Zoe returns, he thanks her for her generosity, tells Jared he’ll see him later, and dumps his tray on his way out.

 

He wants to go to the library. 

 

••••

He ends up getting a little lost, has to ask a couple kids for directions on his way there, but Evan eventually finds himself standing in the middle of the largest library he’s ever seen, the scent of musty old books filling his lungs. Normally, he doesn’t like feeling overwhelmed, but this is a good kind of overwhelmed, a not entirely unpleasant sensation. 

 

Of course, because he’s Evan Hansen and took the scenic route _many_ times over trying to get here, he’s only got fifteen minutes to explore before curfew, when he has to be back on his dorm floor. But that’s fine. He’ll have an entire year to explore; tonight, he can just start with a basic overview, attempt to get a general sense of the outlay of the place.

 

He wanders through the stacks, runs his hands over the spines, and thinks back to childhood memories, recollections of the public library in Rochester. His dad used to take him there when he was little, before he met Jennifer the Waitress at that Embassy Suites on a business trip and left them for good. Tears well in his eyes at the memory, and Evan wipes at them furiously, wanting so desperately to wipe the memories away with them.

 

“Do you cry in libraries often?” Evan starts at the sound of a new voice behind him, and he turns to find Connor there. _Oh_. Of course — Zoe _had_ said her brother liked to hang out in the library during mealtimes.

 

The taller boy just stands there, kind of glowering at him, clearly expecting a response. “Um, I-I dunno, I guess?” Evan stammers out. It’s not even true, and he regrets it immediately when Connor throws back his head and _laughs_.

 

“Well, _that_ is just the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, oh my God,” he snickers, blue eyes glinting in the light. Evan just stares at him, completely floundering and at a loss as to what he should say, and Connor stops laughing after a couple seconds, cocks his head and seems to inspect him more closely. “Wait, aren’t you Kleinman’s new roommate?” he asks, looking Evan up and down. Evan shivers a little, cold overtaking him like he’s back in the dining hall again.

 

“Y-yeah,” he says, rubbing at his arms in a futile attempt to get warm. “T-th-that’s me.” 

 

Connor’s brows knit together, and before Evan can really process what’s happening, the other boy has taken off his hoodie, tosses it at him. “Here. Can’t have you getting hypothermia the night before your first day, right?” Connor actually _smiles_ at him, and Evan doesn’t even know what to do. He kind of just looks at the hoodie, then up at Connor, then back at the hoodie.

 

Connor doesn’t seem to like that; his eyes go steely, the ice in that bright blue more apparent now than ever, and an ugly sneer twists his features. “What,” he says lowly, “you think I’m a freak, huh? Don’t want my fucking hoodie cuz everyone’s told you how _crazy_ I am, right?” His voice grows louder with every word, and Evan keeps glancing over his shoulder, hoping a librarian will hear and come intervene before this beautiful boy beats the shit out of him for being an idiot, but nobody comes. They’re alone in here.

 

“ _Fuck_ you,” Connor snarls, shoving him against the stack and storming off. A couple books clatter to the ground, and Evan winces when one particularly heavy novel falls on his foot. 

 

“W-wait, Connor, d-don’t you want your hoodie back?” he attempts to call after the other boy, but he’s long gone already.

 

Now Evan is truly alone, just him and the books. He can’t seem to keep himself from ruining everything, can he?

 

The tears come again, and this time, Evan can’t stop them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the angsty ending, i promise things will get better for evan & his pals! 
> 
> wouldn't be a tree bros fic without a connor/evan misunderstanding & confrontation, right?
> 
> thanks for all the love and support. 
> 
> xo,  
> L


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been working on this all day, so now i'm gonna fall into a deep sleep and try to pretend i don't have to get up for work at 6 tomorrow (it's 11:10 here)
> 
> tw: alcohol use

_three._

"Holy fucking shit, less than 24 hours at LaSalle and you’ve already managed to piss off Connor Murphy.” Jared’s laughing so hard he can barely get the words out, doubling over as they stand in line for breakfast the next morning. “I mean, Jesus, it usually takes newbies around a week — some kid named John holds the world record, I think it took him like a couple of days — but you’ve, like, _completely_ smashed that. Nice job, roomie.”

 

Evan frowns. “C-can you stop calling me that? I-I have a name, y’know.” Jared just snorts at him and grabs a handful of pastries from the baked goods section. Evan thinks about how his mom would have a field day with that — she’s been in the medical field nearly his entire life — andhis heart gives a little twinge at how much he misses her already. Maybe he’ll call her tonight, even if it makes Jared think he’s a loser — it’s not like he can make much of a worse first impression, right?

 

He doesn’t know if it’s the lingering effects of his encounter with Connor last night or just first day nerves in general, but Evan’s lost his appetite, and it’s only by thinking back on his mom’s many lectures on nutrition that he manages to convince himself to grab an apple and a carton of milk. Jared glances at his tray and raises a brow, but his roommate doesn’t say anything, and Evan allows the shorter boy to lead him to their table from last night. He can see Zoe sitting there, pretty and glowing as usual in a pair of denim overalls and a striped T-shirt, Alana by her side in a vibrant teal cardigan, and he prays that he didn’t screw things up enough to earn himself an exile from their table.

 

By some miracle, the errors of his ways from last night seem to have been forgotten, as Alana chirps a bright hello at him and Zoe greets him with an earnest smile. Their eyes linger on his tray, too, and Alana leans over to whisper something to Zoe. Evan wants to tell her that that’s rude, doesn’t she know it makes people _uncomfortable_ when she whispers about them, his mom always told him to not whisper at the table — but he feels that familiar tightness in his chest and elects to just sit and stay silent, to not speak unless spoken to.

 

“Did you manage to get that essay in to your professor, Alana?” Jared says, taking a bite of his cheese danish. 

 

Alana’s eyes widen, but she’s a good liar, replying smoothly, “Yes. She wrote back and said she’d send me her edits this afternoon. The essay is due in two weeks, so that gives me plenty of time to turn in a perfect copy.”

 

“That’s great, Lana!” Zoe says, squeezing her shoulder encouragingly. The gesture reminds Evan of his mother, and he has to tear his eyes away. He ends up staring down at his apple, unable to convince himself to bite into it. 

 

“Move your shit, Zoe.” A voice cuts into their peaceful quiet, and Evan freezes. He knows that voice. It’s the same voice that screamed at him in the library just last night. Sure enough, Connor Murphy is standing there, in the flesh, wearing a faded red button down and a gray hoodie, the first non-black things Evan’s seen him wear, though his jeans and combat boots are still black as night. He’s holding a tray with a bowl of cereal, another surprise, since he’s been told that Connor doesn’t eat in here during mealtimes. _Why is he here?_

 

Zoe looks to be in shock, but she stands up and hurries to the empty seat between Alana and Evan, quickly grabbing the guitar case she’s placed there and moving it to stand beside her own seat. Evan starts to shiver when Connor takes the seat, the curly-haired boy now directly to his left, and Jared smirks. “Jesus, Evan, you’d think your power had to do with the cold or something,” he comments, taking a swill of milk, “you’re always acting like you’re freezing your ass off.”

 

“If his power had to do with the cold, Jared, wouldn’t he remain unaffected by it?” Alana points out. Jared’s eyes narrow, and they start to argue. Evan inhales sharply and hopes the rest of breakfast goes quickly. He hopes even more that the image of the boy eating Cheerios next to him won’t stick in his head when he can’t fall asleep tonight. Last night, he’d slipped into his room exactly at curfew, crawled into bed, and stared at the ceiling for probably two hours. He hadn’t said a word to Jared, because the only thing he’d been able to focus on was the image of the taller boy screaming at him, shoving him in the library, and the icy pain, so unnervingly familiar, he’d seen in those eyes, so vividly blue. How he’d wanted to heal that pain, wanted to know if he could even try to.

 

He’d woken up holding Connor’s hoodie.

 

After what feels like an eternity, the bell finally rings, signaling the end of breakfast and fifteen minutes till the start of first block. “C’mon, Evan,” Alana says, standing up and donning her backpack. It’s a royal purple hue, as bright and cheery as the girl who’s wearing it. “We can go get your schedule—”

 

“I’ll go with him,” Connor interrupts, stepping between them and placing a hand on Alana’s wrist. “Don’t you want to check and see if Professor Keating has finished the edits early? You know she does that a lot.” 

 

Alana’s brow furrows, confusion written all over her face as she stares up at Connor. Zoe watches from a distance, a scowl marring her pretty features, and Evan’s heart starts to pound. “How did you—” she starts, then shakes her head. “You’re probably right. Evan, sorry to bail on you, but I need to make sure this essay’s perfect. I’ll catch up with you at lunch. Bye!” Then she’s out the doors, faster than a bolt of lightning.

 

Jared and Zoe are still standing there, a mischievous glint in Jared’s eye, Zoe sporting a beyond irritated expression. She stalks up to Connor, laces of her white Converse sneakers flopping as she walks, until they’re face-to-face, the two siblings glaring at each other with a kind of force that makes Evan feel wholly on edge. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, asswipe,” she hisses, “but don’t fuck with Alana.” Connor simply rolls his eyes, clearly uninterested in what his sister has to say, but he mumbles something back that makes Zoe’s face soften slightly.

 

The younger girl turns to Evan and says, “I hope your first day goes well, Evan. I’ll see you at lunch. Don’t let my brother scare you too much, okay?” Evan nods, and Zoe’s off with a speed to rival Alana’s. He can tell she’s still angry over whatever the hell Connor did by how she shoves the double doors out of her way as she exits, causing them to slam loudly against the walls. Jared whistles lowly at the noise, gives Evan a long look, and then leaves, too.

 

Great. Now he’s stuck with Connor, who very well may attempt to kill him on the way to get his schedule. If they even make it that far. 

 

“Let’s get going, Hansen,” Connor calls over his shoulder, already halfway to the doors. Evan doesn’t remember ever telling him his last name. “I’ve got shit to smoke and classes to skip.” 

 

Evan follows without a protest, because — well, what else is he supposed to do?

 

••••

“W-why are you being nice to me?” Evan can’t help but ask once his schedule is safely in his hands. They’re navigating the hallways, Connor explaining all the little shortcuts Evan most certainly won’t remember and pointing out all his classrooms to him. Evan has no clue how the taller boy knows all this — he’s already mentioned twice that he’s been to a grand total of three classes over the past week, so he’s obviously not actually in class all that often.

 

Connor stiffens at the question. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth,” he mutters. “So let’s just say I’ve decided to turn a new leaf, alright? Easier explanation for everyone.”

 

“T-that doesn’t really answer my question,” Evan dares to say.

 

Connor whirls around, curls flying, and fixes him with a glare that Evan is quickly becoming accustomed to seeing around here. “Not every question needs an answer,” he snaps, “so just leave it the fuck alone, okay?”

 

Before Evan can respond or even blink, they’ve stopped in front of a classroom. Evan cranes his neck, trying to peer through the little window in the door, and lets out a breath of relief when he spots a familiar Sriracha sauce T-shirt-clad boy in the back — Jared’s in this block. “Here’s your first class.” Connor gestures to the door. “Honors Biology. Have fun. Door’s unlocked, so.” 

 

He turns on his heel and starts to walk off, but Evan races to catch up to him, grabbing him by the hoodie sleeve. “W-wait, Connor—”

 

Connor freezes, and Evan instantly knows he’s made a mistake. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he growls, pulling away from Evan and spinning around to face him. That same iciness from the library is back in his gaze, and Evan swears he can feel the shards of ice piercing his chest. Is _that_ his power? The cold? Maybe that’s why he’s been shivering so much since he got here. 

 

“S-sorry,” Evan mutters, lowering his eyes and snatching his fingers back like he’s been burned (when, really, the feeling is just the opposite). “I-I’ll go.”

 

Connor sighs loudly as he moves in the direction of the classroom. “Hold on. What did you want to tell me?”

 

Evan doesn’t really know himself, can’t even remember what had seemed so earthshakingly important just a few seconds ago, so he scrambles for an excuse. “Um, I — I just wanted to ask you if you wanted your hoodie back,” he blurts out.

 

An amused look crosses Connor’s face, and he laughs softly. It’s the nicest thing Evan’s heard from him since they met. “Nah,” he says, starting down the hall. “Keep it. Seems like you’re enjoying it, anyway.” 

 

Those words ring in Evan’s head for the rest of the day.

 

••••

Evan’s first week at LaSalle Academy flies by, his classes actually somewhat enjoyable (aside from math, which Evan has _never_ liked), the friendship he’s found in Alana, Zoe, and Jared exciting (even if it does keep him on his toes, what with his friends’ quick wit). He doesn’t see Connor again after the first day, the curly-haired boy skipping out on mealtimes for the rest of the week. He mystifies Evan, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t kind of like the mystery.

 

Evan knows it’s bad that he’s already kind of emotionally invested in Connor Murphy. From what his classmates have told him, he’s a ticking time bomb — apparently telekinesis is his power, and he’d used it to throw a printer at his teacher in second grade, which is how he and Zoe had ended up going to schools specifically for powered kids. From what Jared says, Connor’s prone to fits of anger, will lash out for seemingly no reason, is paranoid beyond all belief, will lock himself in his room for days at a time and never come out if given the chance. But from Evan’s own experiences with the other boy — well, yes, he’s seen the rage, has been pushed and shoved and screamed at. But a part of him wants to believe that there’s more to Connor than his fury and the stories his peers have to share. 

 

Then there’s another part of him that’s _certain_ there’s more to Connor. He’s seen the pain in his eyes, a pain he knows all too well. That kind of pain can only come from a deep sort of hurt, a hurt that the unfeeling monster the other students paint him as could never experience. 

 

And what about the hoodie? What about the schedule and the time they’d spent traversing the hallways of LaSalle together? Those glimpses of kindness, however brief, can’t be cast aside or simply ignored. They’re the living, breathing proof that Connor isn’t just six feet and three inches of anger and violence. He’s _human_ , he’s _real_. And that’s what fascinates Evan the most.

 

He wonders how long it’ll take Jared to notice that he’s been sleeping with the same black hoodie for five days. 

 

On Friday morning, Evan’s fourth day of classes at LaSalle, Zoe and Alana seem even bubblier than usual (something Evan hadn’t thought possible), Jared grinning and slinging an arm around his shoulder as he takes his place at the table. “Don’t get all nervous and let this ruin your day, Hansen, but you’re going to a party tonight,” his roommate declares.

 

Evan’s palms turn sweaty at the mere mention of a party. Stuck in a room with people he barely knows, likely getting separated from the three only friends he has at this school, surrounded by lots of illegal things he’ll be too scared to try? He’d rather go back to Rochester than deal with that particular nightmare.

 

“I was gonna tell him, Jared,” Zoe complains. She turns to Evan. “But yeah, if you wanna go, then you’ve got an invite — a guy from jazz band is throwing a bonfire tonight, and he invited me, Lana, and Jared to come, so I figured you could be our plus-one. If you’re up for it,” she adds upon seeing Evan’s panicked look, probably reminiscent of a deer stuck in the headlights.

 

He wants to say no, wants to allow himself the familiar comfort of retreating to his room tonight and going to bed early, maybe even giving his mother a call, but — he sees the eager looks on his friends’ faces, sees how excited they are and thinks about how three is the most awkward number, how there’ll just be three of them if he doesn’t go, and Evan knows he can’t turn them down.

 

So he says yes, even though he ends up worrying about it all day, and prays he won’t come to regret it.

 

Fourteen hours later, Evan’s seated in front of a flickering bonfire, the scent of beer and smoldering wood filling the air, deeply regretting ever coming to this party. 

 

At least the punch is good, he thinks, draining the last bit of his third cup of the stuff. Kinda weird, though, the way it kind of burns as it goes down — he’s not used to punch doing that to him.

 

Zoe’s holding court on the other side of the bonfire, surrounded by jazz band kids, Alana by her side and listening intently to every story the glowing girl shares. They glance over at Evan every once in a while to check up on him, Zoe throwing him a couple of apologetic smiles. She’d waved him over around thirty minutes ago, but Evan had politely declined her offer and opted to stay on his side of the fire, the crowd on Zoe’s side more than a little daunting to him. 

 

Jared, meanwhile, has been standing by the beer keg ever since he got here, helping a big guy named Rob pour drinks for the other attendees and chatting with him about video games. He’d tried to convince Evan to join them, but Evan doesn’t want to be anywhere near alcohol — that’s a recipe for his disaster, his mom has told him many a time, and he feels like he’d be disrespecting her if he deliberately doled it out to other people or, God forbid, drank it himself. She’s sacrificed a lot for him to come here — LaSalle isn’t exactly cheap — and Evan can’t do that to her, even if she’d never find out.

 

By his sixth cup of punch, though, Evan is suddenly feeling _much_ better about this whole party thing. He’s smiling, laughing at his own stupid jokes to himself, and, halfway through his seventh cup, decides that hanging with Jared and Rob by the keg can’t be such a bad prospect after all. Evan leaps up, swaying a little on his feet, and makes his way over to the keg.

 

“Jared,” he crows, “I-I’m, like, _so_ happy to be here! Thanks for inviting me, this is _so_ cool.”

 

Instead of being pleased at Evan’s newfound confidence, Jared actually looks mildly concerned. “Jesus, you’re slurring your words worse than my Uncle Dave at Thanksgiving last year,” he says, frowning. “How much have you had?”

 

“I dunno what you’re talking about, Jar, I’ve just had a couple glasses of punch,” Evan giggles. When did the world get so colorful? And, wow, the way that liquid is flowing out of the tap of the keg is pretty cool, kinda like a waterfall — 

 

“Okay, one, _ew_ , don’t ever call me that again, and two, that punch was spiked, you fucking idiot,” Jared groans. “And now, I guess I’m gonna have to fulfill my roommate duties and take your poor naïve, drunk self back to the dorm before you puke on my feet or something.” 

 

Zoe and Alana appear, Zoe handing her empty cup to Rob to be refilled (Alana doesn’t drink, Evan’s noticed), the both of them pausing and peering at him curiously. “Evan, I think you’re drunk,” Zoe says slowly. 

 

“Aren’t you clever, Zoe.” Jared rolls his eyes. “Yeah, my wonderful roommate had a few cups of punch that he apparently assumed would not be spiked, and so now I have to pretend to be nice for once and take him back.”

 

“Wow, what a lightweight,” Rob laughs. “Aren’t all powered kids supposed to have a higher tolerance?” He glances Evan up and down, and Evan can feel his face heating at the unwanted attention. “You sure you belong here, buddy?” 

 

Zoe’s eyes are practically shooting daggers at Rob, and Alana opens her mouth, clearly about to start lecturing him, but Jared clearly decides for the both of them that this is a scene he doesn’t want to stick around to watch, as he grabs Evan’s arm and drags him off in the general direction of their dormitory. 

 

They’re only halfway there when Evan starts to gag, and Jared quickly hauls him into the bushes lining the sides of the pathway. They stand there for a few minutes, waiting for Evan to splatter the contents of his stomach all over LaSalle’s world-renowned greenery. Nothing comes up, though, and Jared just sighs as he helps him back onto the path. “Rule Number One of parties, Hansen: never assume anything isn’t spiked,” he mumbles.

 

“Rule number two: don’t let your roommate take you back to the dorms when he’d evidently rather be back at the party.” Evan looks up at the sound of Connor’s voice, world tilting a little around him and forcing him to lean into Jared, who stumbles and causes Evan to trip.

 

And because the universe obviously fucking hates him, he falls right into Connor’s arms. 

 

The taller boy catches him smoothly, wrapping one hoodie-clad arm around his waist to support him. If he weren’t drunk and desperately fighting off the urge to retch, Evan would definitely be blushing. “I can take him from here,” Connor says, and _wow_ since when did his voice make Evan’s stomach twinge like that? Or maybe that’s just the nausea.

 

“Are you sure, I really don’t want your sister to burn me at the stake because you let something happen to him — ” 

 

“The keg’s waiting for you, Kleinman,” Connor practically sings, and a grin spreads across Jared’s face at that.

 

“True. Alright, you can have him. But he better be in bed by the time I’m back,” he warns as he starts to back away.

 

“Duly noted,” Connor mutters, and Evan watches as Jared flashes them a thumbs-up before disappearing down the path. 

 

Evan throws up for real this time the second they make it into his floor’s bathroom, and his heart flutters in a disturbing sort of way when Connor stays with him, grabs a bottle of water from the common fridge and even wets a washcloth to press to his overheated forehead. The nausea finally dissipates after Evan’s completely emptied his stomach, and Connor helps him get to his room, slinging him onto his bed and returning to the door to close it as quietly as he can.

 

One of the scarier side effects of the alcohol, and probably the one that Evan hates the most, is that he can’t quite seem to control what comes out of his mouth. This, unfortunately for Future Sober Evan, leads to him blurting out, “I jus’ wanna get to know you better, Connor, I dunno why you have to be so _mysterious_ all the time.”

 

Connor should be running the other way at that, but he simply raises a brow and says, “Alright. What do you want to know?”

 

“Um…” Evan considers for a moment, then settles on something. “What about your power? What is it?”

 

“I’m a telepath. I read minds,” Connor explains. “Only when I’m touching someone skin-to-skin, though.”

 

“Oh. So — ” Evan shakes his head, confused. “But—”

 

“Why do you look so shocked?” Connor questions.

 

“Oh, I — I just assumed you were telekinetic, I mean everyone says — ”

 

Connor scoffs. “I know, everyone thinks my power’s telekinesis because I threw a printer at Mrs. G in second grade.” He sighs heavily. “’S not true, though. My parents sent me here assuming that was my power — and, I mean, they probably wish it was, it’s certainly a better excuse for throwing a printer at your teacher than just being an asshole — but then I actually figured out it was telepathy, so.” Connor shrugs. “Here I am still.”

 

“I wish my power was something cool like that,” Evan murmurs. “Mine’s so dumb.”

 

“You’re a healer, right?” Evan’s eyes go wide, not sure how the other boy found that out, and Connor quickly adds, “Zoe told me.”

 

“Oh. Yeah.” Evan relaxes slightly. 

 

“Well, you never threw a printer at an old lady, so at least you’ve got that going for you,” Connor says dryly.

 

Evan shakes his head. “No, you don’t get it. Everything about my power, it sounds nice and all, but it’s really just toxic. It never attracts anything good.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Connor looks at him, curiosity obvious in his expression. Evan shivers under his gaze.

 

“I discovered my power when someone came to the park I was working at and tried to commit suicide by jumping from a tree. I found them and healed the worst of their injuries, and that’s how I realized I had powers. How’s _that_ for a sucky power.” Evan’s slurring his words worse now, sleep tugging at him as his eyelids grow heavy.

 

“Wait, Evan, stay with me.” Connor’s hand is on his, temporarily lifting him out of the haze. “Do you remember the person? I mean, you’d want to check up on them, right?”

 

Evan shrugs. “I would if I could, but my mom took me to the hospital after for acute shock, and one of the powered doctors there wiped my memory of the person. Said it’d prevent me from suffering any additional trauma in case they tried again and succeeded, and protect their privacy too.” His eyes fall shut as he leans back into the pillows, and he’s vaguely aware of Connor exhaling roughly next to him.

 

Soft cotton brushes against him as the covers are tucked over his body, and Evan hums quietly at the pleasant feeling. 

 

“Goodnight, Evan,” is the last thing he hears before everything goes dark and sleep pulls him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor naive evan, he's adorable.
> 
> thanks for all the love and support! it is so very appreciated. love to you all.
> 
> xo,  
> L


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably rather rough, apologies for that. i've been slammed at work and had to stay up pretty late to write this.
> 
> thank you for the love and support!!
> 
> xo,  
> L

_four._

"So , wanna tell me who tucked you into bed last night?” 

 

Evan’s shoulders slump at the sight of his roommate, arms crossed and glasses smudged, standing in the doorway. He doesn’t know why Jared looks so pissed off, but he’s definitely not prepared to deal with it — he’s kind of at a loss as to what happened last night, too, and he’s got a nasty headache. He’d woken up a half hour ago, feeling so gross he’d immediately headed for the showers, and Jared had still been asleep, so Evan had prayed he’d be able to sneak back in without disturbing the other boy — he’d figured Jared would want to interrogate him. Clearly, his prayers had not been answered.

 

“I mean, obviously your mom didn’t drive all the way up from Rochester and do it,” Jared continues, leaning against the wall, “so it had to have been someone here. And there’s no way in hell Connor fucking _Murphy_ did that.” 

 

“Why do you care so much?” Evan snaps, wincing instantly at his own defensiveness. He hadn’t come into this intending to be a jerk, but the throbbing in his temples is kind of ruining that plan, and he doesn’t want to admit how scary it is that he can’t even remember what happened. Not to mention the fact that he really just wants to crawl back in bed and stay there. 

 

“I’m your _roommate_ , Evan, I’m supposed to care,” Jared hisses. “Plus, how do I know you didn’t bring some random weirdo in here?” Evan’s head flares with pain, and his arm is starting to ache from holding his shower caddy for so long. 

 

“Just leave me alone, Jared,” he mumbles, pushing past the shorter boy and dropping his caddy by the closet. His hair’s still damp, and he ends up dripping a little onto the floor as he stalks over to his backpack at the foot of the bed. Jared lets out an angry huff, and Evan’s glad he’s got his back to him so he doesn’t have to see the look on his face.

 

“You can’t just have random people in our _room_ , Evan — ” Jared starts, but Evan doesn’t let him finish. He might not remember much from last night, but he _does_ remember the way his roommate had left him by the campfire to go try to be cool and man the keg with Rob, and he _does_ remember the way that Jared had rolled his eyes at him when he’d turned out to be drunk, the way he’d basically called him a burden to his face. 

 

He can’t remember anything after that, but. He remembers that much.

 

“Well, it wasn’t like you really wanted me around!” Evan almost shouts, whirling around to face his roommate. “You wanted to stay with _Rob_ , so everyone would think you were cool, right? And you didn’t think to tell me that the punch was s-spiked, so _someone_ had to walk me home!” His chest is heaving by the end of his outburst, Evan desperate to steady his breathing before he works himself into a panic attack. That’s absolutely the last thing he needs right now.

 

Jared’s face crumples, but he hides it quickly, and Evan wonders if that’s the shapeshifter in him, the way he’s so easily able to disguise whatever emotion was on his face before with a curled lip and narrowed eyes, the classic hallmarks of anger. “ _I_ walked you home last night, _asshole_ ,” he spits, and Evan doesn’t miss the way his voice quivers on the word _“asshole_ ”. Then he’s gone, opening the door and slamming it behind him, disappearing out into the hallway to go do God knows what. Probably to go find Zoe and Alana and make sure they never sit with him again.

 

Jared’s last words have triggered something in his mind, and Evan’s hands start to shake as the memories come flooding back. Jared, walking him back to the dorm. Jared, pulling him off of the path when he thought he’d vomit. Jared, allowing him to lean against his shoulder and softly muttering tips for future parties to come. _Shit_ , he shouldn’t have said anything. Jared _had_ tried to do the right thing, at least temporarily. 

 

And then, the final memory clicks into place.

 

Jared, letting someone else take over halfway.

 

Jared, handing him over to Connor Murphy.

 

So that’s why Jared had mentioned Connor a few minutes ago. Because _Connor_ had taken Evan back to his room. _Connor_ had tucked him in last night and dealt with the multitude of embarrassing things that had likely come out of his mouth during that stretch of time. 

 

Oh, God.

 

No. Nononononono.

 

Evan has to find Connor, pronto, and do damage control. Then Jared, then Zoe and Alana, provided that they don’t hate him by the time he gets to them.

 

This is not good. This is not good at _all_.

 

He sprints out the door so fast he sees stars. 

 

——

There aren’t words to describe how grateful Evan is that the school library opens at seven on Saturdays, because he wouldn’t know where else to look for Connor. Thankfully, he finds the curly-haired boy exactly where he’d expected him to be, feet propped up on an expensive old table, leafing through a yellowed Kurt Vonnegut novel.

 

“Hey, Hansen,” Connor greets as he walks up, and Evan has to wonder if the other boy has eyes on the back of his head.

 

“H-hey, Connor. Um—” Evan grabs the seat across from him, sliding his backpack onto the floor. Connor marks his place in his book and looks up, obviously intrigued. “T-this is gonna sound crazy,” Evan says, lowering his voice as the librarian glances over at them, “b-but do you remember anything I said to you last night?”

 

Connor chuckles, and Evan’s taken aback at how pleasant he finds that sound to be. “What, you don’t remember?” he teases. When Evan doesn’t laugh, Connor’s face falls. “Oh. You’re serious.” 

 

Evan nods, face heating with embarrassment. “Y-yes. I-I shouldn’t have had that punch, I-I just didn’t know it was spiked, but if I had I never would’ve drank it, I’ve n-never had alcohol before — Well, before last night.” He falls silent at that, shame burning in his chest at the thoughtof his mother and all her lectures on underage drinking. How would she feel about what he did last night? Oh, God, she’ll hate him if she finds out — 

 

Connor’s hand closes around his wrist, and Evan starts at the unexpected touch. He doesn’t mind it — far from it, if he’s being honest with himself — but he normally doesn’t get much comforting contact from anyone other than his mom. It’s a good way to ground him, though, and Evan’s thoughts temporarily slow as Connor’s eyes meet his, the taller boy’s gaze intense enough to nearly emotionally level him. “I-I thought you didn’t like being touched,” Evan blurts out.

 

Connor shrugs. “I make the occasional exception,” he says smoothly. “So — do you need to know what you said?”

 

Evan flushes. “Well, I — I just —” He flounders for a moment, but then Connor does this thing where he strokes his thumb against the inside of Evan’s wrist, right where his pulse is, and it’s scarily intimate, but also strangely comforting, and somehow, it helps him to get the words out. “Did I say anything about my power?” Evan finally asks.

 

Connor shakes his head. “Nope,” he reassures him. “Not a word. All I know is that you can heal people, and that’s cuz Zoe told me, but — we didn’t talk about it.”

 

All the tension in Evan’s body instantly uncoils, and he relaxes back into the chair. Connor lets go of his wrist, and he hates how much he misses the feel of the other boy’s fingers against his skin. “Thanks,” Evan whispers. 

 

Connor doesn’t respond, just kind of dips his head, and Evan gets the sense that he should go — he needs to talk to Jared, anyway. He stands up, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, and says, “I guess I’ll see you at breakfast?”

 

“Maybe,” Connor replies, and that’s probably a better response than he deserved anyway, so Evan lets it go.

 

Time to find Jared.

 

——

If there’s one thing about his roommate that makes them a good match, it’s that Jared is more predictable than he knows (a godsend for someone with anxiety). This is how Evan correctly assumes he’ll have returned to their room after cooling off.

 

Evan gets back to their room to find Jared lounging on their couch, emptying the last bits of a bag of kettle popcorn into his mouth. Normally, he might take a moment to question the consumption of non-breakfast food before 11 AM, but considering they’re fresh off a fight, he decides it’s better left alone. 

 

He steps toward the couch, ready to apologize, but before Evan can get a word out, Jared fixes him with a glare that could wilt even the strongest soul. “If you’re here to give me some half-assed apology, don’t bother,” he says sharply. 

 

Evan flinches, teeth digging into his lip so badly they almost draw blood. “I — I just — Jared, I’m — ” he tries.

 

“Come back later, Hansen,” Jared sighs. “Right now, I don’t want to talk about it.” He pauses. “See you at breakfast.” 

 

Evan takes that as his cue to leave.

 

——

Essentially exiled from his own room and with nowhere to go, Evan finds a quiet corner of the hallway to hide in and pulls out his phone. He can’t think of another alternative.

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:15 AM **

** Hi Zoe, it’s Evan. Jared kind of kicked me out **

** of our room and I don’t really have anywhere **

** else to go? Is there somewhere we could  **

** meet up? Breakfast isn’t till 9:00 and I don’t **

** want to stand out here for 45 minutes. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 8:16 AM **

** hey evan. i knew it **

** was you, we’ve  **

** texted before, remember? anyway, **

** you can come to my **

** room. i’m 1340 on **

** the girls’ floor. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:16 AM **

** Are you sure??? I don’t want to intrude. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 8:17 **

** yes i’m sure!! my **

** roommate is home  **

** for the weekend  **

** anyway so i’ve got  **

** lana up here.  **

** please swing by **

 

He has to use the map Zoe gave him on Monday, but he gets there in a relatively short amount of time. Evan knocks on the door softly, catches the tail end of a giggle from the other side and hopes someone heard him.

 

They did — Zoe answers the door a few seconds later, fresh-faced and smiling. She appears far too put-together for someone who consumed as much alcohol as she had last night — then again, Evan seems to be the outlier with the lowered tolerance here. Maybe normal powered kids don’t get hangovers, and that’s just another way in which he’s embarrassingly different from his peers. 

 

Evan doesn’t want to think about it. He tries to focus on the positives, the fact that he’s still got at least two friends here, as Zoe welcomes him in and closes the door behind them. Her room is far sunnier than his and Jared’s, with a large bay window that allows sunlight to stream in, and it’s certainly more organized — both sides of the room are sparkling with their cleanliness, a far cry from the mess that Evan’s grown used to. Jared basically just keeps his stuff in a couple of different towering piles and calls it a day. Zoe and her roommate clearly don’t operate that way.

 

Alana’s perched on the edge of Zoe’s bed, cheery in a canary-yellow cardigan, and she gives him a tiny wave hello, patting the space next to her to offer him a seat. Normally, Evan wouldn’t have the guts to take her up on that, but he can use whatever friendship he can get right now, so as uncomfortable as it makes him, he sits down. 

 

“What happened with Jared?” Alana asks, cutting right to the chase. Evan’s chest tightens considerably at the mention of his roommate.

 

“Um, when I woke up, I couldn’t remember anything that happened l-last night,” he admits, watching as Zoe twists a lock of hair back from her face and pins it. “A-and Jared just got really mad? He — he asked me who tucked me in, b-because someone had tucked me in last night, and I couldn’t remember, and I-I got kind of defensive and asked him why he cared, and we ended up fighting, and —” Evan forces himself to stop, sensing the way his heart is starting to pound. He needs to calm down before he can continue.

 

Thankfully, Zoe and Alana apparently don’t need more of an explanation than that — they exchange a quick glance, and Zoe clears her throat, momentarily abandoning her routine with the bobby pins. “Jared had a roommate before you,” she explains, leaning against the railing of her roommate’s bed. “He — he left kind of abruptly, and the way it all happened -- Jared didn’t take it too well.”

 

“He’s somewhat traumatized by it,” Alana interjects bluntly. “So you’ll have to forgive him for being a little sensitive. He likely just wants to find a friend in you, and I’m certain he’s worried you’ll leave him in a similar fashion.”

 

“You just have to let him stew,” Zoe adds. “He’ll be over it by the end of the day. You can try to apologize, if you want, but it probably won’t do much. Jared’s not an apology kind of guy. And, like I said, he’ll have forgotten about it by tomorrow.”

 

Maybe, Evan thinks, he and his roommate have more in common than they initially realized.

 

After all, they both know what it’s like to get left behind.

 

——

Breakfast is awkward but tolerable, Connor absent (Evan can’t ignore the twinge in his heart when he notices the empty seat) as usual, Zoe and Alana managing to keep the conversation going enough to prevent too much uncomfortable silence. 

 

And Zoe, of course, turns out to be right — by Sunday morning, Jared’s back to his typical sarcastic self, all off-color jokes and crooked smiles. Evan’s never been happier to hear someone make fun of his polos.

 

The rest of the weekend goes by uneventfully — Evan doesn’t catch another glimpse of Connor, and he figures he should probably stop getting his hopes up about that. He gets his homework done, proofreads one of Alana’s essays for her, even allows Jared to ramble about some LaSalle-specific conspiracy theories to him for a couple of hours. Things are looking up, he thinks. He can get used to this. He can even be happy this way.

 

He decides to call his mom on Sunday night. It’s been one week since they said goodbye, and she’s pretty much the only thing he misses about Rochester (aside from the state park). Jared is gracious enough to head to the bathroom to brush his teeth while Evan dials her number.

 

She picks up on the first ring. “Evan! Hi, honey,” she says, almost breathless with excitement. Evan can hear beeping in the background and knows she must be at work.

 

“Sorry, Mom, I didn’t mean to bother you at work — ”

 

“No, sweetheart, it’s okay! I’m on break anyway.” She’s lying, Evan can tell, but he chooses not to say anything — an argument with his mom wouldn’t be the best way to start his second week here. “How’s school?” she asks, voice so bright it nearly hurts. “Have you made any friends? How’s your roommate?”

 

Evan fills her in on Zoe and Alana, gives her a sugarcoated version of Jared, and listens to her rant about her coworker Jennifer, who apparently has attempted to switch shifts with his mother for the third time in as many days. As they near the end of their call, Evan’s heart is feeling a little lighter, his burden a little less. Talking to his mom helps him more than he once thought, apparently. 

 

Then Jared decides to burst in and ruin everything.

 

“ _Holy shit_ , Hansen,” his roommate crows, door bursting open behind him. “You’re in for it now, dude.” There’s a piece of paper clutched in his left hand, but Evan can’t tell what it is. He immediately attempts to cover the receiver to prevent his mom from hearing anything, but it’s too late.

 

“Evan? Is everything okay, sweetie?” his mom says, concerned.

 

He glares daggers at Jared. “Yeah, Mom, everything’s great,” he replies. “Sorry, but I — I need to go. It’s almost lights-out. But I’ll call you soon.”

 

“Okay, hon. I love you.”

 

“Love you too. Bye.” Evan hangs up, and the moment he’s certain his mother’s not on the other line, he turns to Jared. “Why did you do that?” he demands. “My — my mom’s probably freaking out now!”

 

Jared holds out the piece of paper, and Evan takes it from him with shaking hands, scanning it over quickly.

 

_ Attention: Evan Hansen, Room 1216, Boys’ Floor _

_ Dear Mr. Hansen, _

_ The Headmistress requests your presence for a mandatory meeting _

_ on Monday, September 25th, at 8:30 AM, regarding your enrollment at LaSalle Academy for Gifted Youth. Please be aware that you will _

_ face disciplinary action if you are tardy or choose not to attend.  _

_ Regards, _

_ Susan Meyer _

_ Secretary _

 

“You’re screwed, Evan,” Jared breathes, wide-eyed and worried. “Have you _heard_ what happens to people who meet with the Headmistress? Nobody comes out of there, man.”

 

Evan gulps.

 

This doesn’t bode well for him, does it?

 

Judging by the look on his roommate’s face, he’s guessing no.

 

Leave it to him to get kicked out after a week. 


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan meets with the headmistress. Jared freaks out. Connor reprimands. A friendship is begun.

_five._

Evan  swears his soul is going to actually leave his body any second now. 

 

He’s panicking, the anxiety intense and verging on overwhelming as he waits outside the headmistress’s office. His phone’s buzzing in his pocket, Jared sending him text after text to wish him luck and make sure he’s alive. Evan reaches down and puts it on silent — he doesn’t want the headmistress to get mad at him for that, too, on top of whatever offense he’s in here for already. He smoothes at a crease in his khakis — he’s wearing his nicest pair, had even pressed them this morning, and the one blue dress shirt he’d brought with him to LaSalle. He’d honestly never anticipated needing it, obviously isn’t the type to go to school dances or anything like that, so the rest are still hanging up in his closet back home in Rochester.

 

_Home._ Evan can’t figure out if he loves or hates the idea of it. He loves his mom, would give anything for one of her hugs or pep talks right now. He loves the state park, the general sense of calm that nature seems to provoke in him, even if he hasn’t yet gathered the courage to return after what happened back in August. And he loves their house, small and rundown as it may be, finds comfort in every little detail of it, right down to the worn plaid comforter on his bed, splattered with ink stains from the journals he used to keep before his mom bought him the laptop for his birthday. 

 

But there’s a lot of things he hates about home. He hates the school, hates the way nobody ever seems to notice him, hates how he could scream his lungs out and still wouldn’t be heard. He hates the nights alone, Mom always at work, him always tucked away in his room, the glow of his computer screen his sole companion, the ache of hunger gnawing at his stomach because he just can’t face the delivery guy today. He hates the isolation, the hours spent scrolling through social media, agonizing over the hundreds of his peers who are doing everything normal teenagers are supposed to do, drinking and partying and road-tripping, doing everything he never has and never will because he’s not _normal_ , he’s not _like them_ , no matter how badly he wishes he could be.

 

And he’s realized, the truth is, maybe last Sunday, Evan had decided he didn’t want to stay at LaSalle, couldn’t handle being here another minute. But now, now that he has friends and a roommate who kinda-sorta cares and whatever the hell Connor Murphy is to him, Evan can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. He misses his mother, but it’s not like he’ll really get her back if he returns to Rochester. He’ll lose her to late-night ER shifts and paralegal courses at the community college anyway, whether he’s at LaSalle or not. So right now, this is the best place for him. Here — well, Evan doesn’t want to be too optimistic or let himself down with false hope, but. Here, he might actually have a chance at being happy, a chance at not being so _alone_.

 

So he really hopes that this headmistress isn’t about to kick him out for something he doesn’t even know he’s done. 

 

“Mr. Hansen?” He jumps to his feet at the sound of his name, palms instantly gone sweaty. It’s Mrs. Meyer, the secretary who’d written him the notice of the meeting, stony-faced and unsmiling in a pair of cat-eye glasses. “The Headmistress will see you now,” she says, gesturing to the closed door just down the hallway. “Don’t bother with knocking.”

 

Evan gulps audibly at the prospect of being faced with whatever new reality this meeting will bring, but he does his best to ground himself, fingers twisting at the hem of his shirt as he makes his way to the door. As Mrs. Meyer had instructed, he doesn’t knock, simply opens the door and steps inside, surveying his surroundings.

 

An imposing figure is bent over paperwork carefully laid out on a large oak desk, scrawling something on what appears to be a contract of some sort. Her thick black hair is done up in a severe bun, and she’s wearing a fitted burgundy blazer, the rest of her outfit concealed beneath the desk. “HEADMISTRESS ADINA LEFAVRE,” the golden nameplate on her desk reads. Evan’s gaze shifts to the rest of the office, which is admittedly impressive, all towering bookcases and portraits of headmistresses and headmasters past. In front of the desk, two velvet chairs have been placed, both the same hue as the headmistress’s blazer. 

 

His fingers slip on the knob, and the door slams shut behind him. The headmistress looks up from her paperwork immediately, fire in her expression, but her face relaxes when she sees Evan standing there.

 

“Ah, my 8:30 appointment,” she says smoothly, a warm smile spreading across her features. She really is quite beautiful, Evan thinks, the deep green of her eyes offsetting the dark of her hair nicely, face the color of porcelain but completely unlined. She can’t be older than forty; Jared had mentioned that she was the youngest headmistress in LaSalle’s history. “Mr. Evan Hansen, correct?” 

 

He nods, swallowing hard, and the headmistress gestures for him to take a seat. Evan settles uncomfortably into the chair, leg already bouncing against the floor as his entire body buzzes with nervous energy. Headmistress LeFavre — is that what he should call her? — isn’t the scary witch hellbent on murdering him that he’d expected, but she’s still beyond intimidating. Then again, he supposes that’s her intention — how else would she be able to put the fear of God into hundreds of cocky teenagers with superpowers? 

 

The headmistress pulls out a manila folder, and Evan can see that his name is printed neatly on the tab of it, though she expertly maneuvers her arm to shield its contents from his view. “So, Mr. Hansen,” she muses. “Seventeen years old, native of Rochester, and gifted with the ability to heal, yes?” Evan nods again, not really trusting himself to speak, but then he realizes she’s looking at the contents of the folder and not him.

 

“Y-yes,” he manages to get out. “T-that’s me.” She doesn’t acknowledge his response, simply continues to read over whatever’s in the folder, and as the silence grows, Evan’s anxiety intensifies. _Oh god, they found out that I drank on Friday, they know I got drunk and they’re going to kick me out, and they probably won’t give Mom her money back so then she’ll have to work even more and it’ll all be for nothing andohgodwhathaveIdone —_

 

Finally, he can’t take it anymore. “I-I’m sorry, ma’am, b-but I just — I don’t really understand why I’m here?” he blurts out. “N-nobody told me, and I-I’ve only been here a week s-so I don’t really know what I could’ve done wrong — ”

 

The headmistress closes the folder and meets his eyes. Evan swears there’s a dangerous kind of fire brewing in her gaze, and a part of him wonders if she’s pyrokinetic, born with the ability to manipulate flames. He wouldn’t have a hard time believing that. “You’re not in trouble, Mr. Hansen,” she says coolly. “This is merely a checkup of sorts. You are a new student, and as headmistress, it is my job to ensure that every newcomer is welcomed into the fold here at LaSalle. That does entail asking you a few questions and making you aware of new opportunities that LaSalle can give to you, which is why I’ve called you in here today, but you are not being punished in the least.”

 

Evan’s shoulders slump with relief. Jared was wrong. He’ll make it out of this office alive, after all.

 

“So,” Headmistress LeFavre continues, “you’re making friends here?”

 

A tiny grin forms on Evan’s face at that, the thought of Zoe, Alana, and Jared (and, yes, even Connor) putting a little glow of warmth in his chest. “Yes,” he says brightly. “I-I’ve made a couple.” 

 

“That’s good.” She opens the folder again and makes a note in it. “And what about Connor Murphy?”

 

Evan freezes, the glow disappearing instantly. How does the headmistress know about Connor? Oh God, maybe she _had_ found them out, had watched surveillance tapes or something and saw Connor helping Evan back to the dorms on Friday — 

 

“I’ve been told you two are becoming friends,” she adds when Evan doesn’t reply. His eyes are probably the size of dinner plates, and the headmistress laughs at that. “Don’t look so frightened,” she says lightly, but there’s an undercurrent of steel in her voice. “Connor has some behavioral issues, as you probably know, so we monitor him closely.”

 

“Oh.” Evan can barely even find it in himself to whisper, he’s wound up so tightly again. They _monitor_ Connor? What does that even mean, he’s aware that Connor gets in trouble a lot but this isn’t freaking _1984_ , does she even have the right to be talking about him like this to another student — 

 

“I would advise you to steer clear of that boy,” the headmistress says, and yup her tone is _definitely_ threatening now. “He’s a troublemaker, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to get dragged into that kind of mess, right, Evan?”

 

When did she start calling him Evan? He doesn’t know what to say, and the headmistress doesn’t seem to care all that much, just straightens her back and moves on to the next topic of discussion. “Now, as for your power — you’re very uniquely gifted, Evan. To my knowledge, you are the only student currently enrolled at LaSalle with healing abilities, and the last student we _did_ encounter with powers like yours was only able to heal smaller animals. According to your report, you can heal humans.” She leans forward, eyes boring into Evan’s, and he can’t help but shrink back a little. “We don’t see students like you very often, Evan,” she tells him. “And that’s why we’d like to offer you a unique opportunity.” 

 

Evan clears his throat, suddenly desperate to get out of here. “Um, o-okay, sure?” he says uncertainly.

 

“We have a world-renowned Studies in Powers department here at LaSalle,” the headmistress says, “and every once in a while, we like to offer internship opportunities to some of our most gifted students. With your permission, of course, the head of this department, Dr. Bowers — he also heads our Science department — would like to delve into further research on your powers with you. He’d also like to offer you internship credit in exchange for assisting him with additional studies in his laboratory.” Headmistress LeFavre pushes a piece of paper across the table, and Evan can see that it’s a kind of contract. She places a pen next to it. “All you have to do is sign,” she adds, flashing him a brilliant grin.

 

Evan’s head is spinning, and this woman is so intimidating, and he could probably use some internship credit anyway, right?

 

So he signs. He signs and he leaves and just thanks the world that he hasn’t been expelled.

 

But it eats at him long after he’s escaped from her office, because Evan knows. Deep down, he knows. 

 

He’s just made a terrible mistake. 

 

——

“You are one lucky asshole, Hansen,” is the first thing Jared says to him when he walks into lunch that day. Evan’s fingers are white against his lunch tray, but Connor’s there for once, and so that’s one of a couple reasons he doesn't just run away on shaky legs and pretend this entire morning wasn’t real. He sits down, and Jared immediately bombards him with questions.

 

“Did she chew you out? What’d you get written up for, the crap you pulled on Friday? How long do you have detention? And most importantly, how the _fuck_ did you get out of there?” Jared demands, taking a bite of his pizza. Evan can’t recall seeing his roommate eat a single healthy thing since he’d arrived here.

 

“Jesus, Kleinman, give him a second to breathe,” Connor says, shooting the shorter boy a withering glare. Alana chuckles at the reprimand. Evan sends him an appreciative glance and unscrews the cap on his water bottle. He chugs for a couple seconds, gulping down water like a dying man, until the anxiety-induced dryness in his mouth is gone and he feels like he can hold a relatively normal conversation again.

 

“She — um, Headmistress LeFavre said I-I wasn’t in any trouble,” Evan tells them, setting his water back down on the table. “S-she just wanted to check up on me, a-and she signed me up for an i-internship.”

 

Jared’s face goes pale at that. “An internship?” he repeats, abandoning his pizza. 

 

“Yeah,” Evan nods, “with Dr. Bowers. H-he wants to do some more research on my power.” 

 

“That sounds more like a study on his part, not an internship,” Alana remarks, brow furrowing. Jared has fallen silent.

 

“I — I’ll be right back, I don’t feel so good,” Jared mutters, and then he’s off, faster than Evan’s ever seen him, disappearing into the hallway like he’s seen a ghost. 

 

“D-did I do something?” Evan questions, picking at the label on his water bottle.

 

Zoe shakes her head. “No, Evan, it’s not your fault. Jared’s roommate did an internship with Dr. Bowers, too. He probably just got reminded of him. Don’t worry about it,” she says reassuringly, and Evan wants to be reassured, but something in the pit of his stomach won’t let her words comfort him. Instead, his chest aches with guilt and worry and something else he can’t entirely describe, and Evan flinches at the discovery of how utterly awful he actually feels right now.

 

And then his breathing has gone shallow, and his head is going fuzzy, and nausea’s slamming into him like an eighteen-wheeler, and Evan _doesnotwanttobehererightnow_ , _can’t_ be here right now. 

 

There’s a hand on his arm. Connor’s. They’re not touching skin-to-skin, and something in the back of Evan’s mind twinges at that, but it gets shoved aside in all the panic. “You okay?” Connor murmurs.

 

Evan can’t respond fully, can only shake his head and stammer, “N-need to get out of here,” and he’s vaguely aware of Connor glancing at Zoe from across the table, some silent exchange going on between them, and _then_ — 

 

Then he’s in the orchard again, but it’s not just him this time. Connor’s with him, too, sitting next to him, hand on his arm like in the dining hall. “H-how — ” Evan starts to splutter.

 

“Zoe can transport multiple people into her illusions at once,” Connor explains, voice low and calming. “She can’t hear anything we say in here, though. And you said you needed to get away, so I thought — ” He gestures to the beautiful scene around them, and Evan’s breath catches, even though his heartbeat’s already started to slow. Connor can be so thoughtful, and Evan can’t understand why anyone would just label him as a “troublemaker” and leave it at that, when he’s so much _more_ than that.

 

They just sit there in the quiet for a few minutes, the rustling of the trees in the wind the only sound, Connor a warm and comforting presence next to him. Finally, when they both sense that he’s gathered up the strength to answer, Connor asks quietly, “What happened in the meeting? It looked like whatever it was really scared you.”

 

“I—” Evan exhales sharply. “I signed a contract for the internship, and it was stupid I know but the headmistress, she was just s-so intimidating and I mean this is a _school_ , like what are they gonna do to me but — I-I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into, Connor. Whatever it is, it’s freaking Jared out and now it’s freaking _me_ out because it’s obviously bad news, and I just — I didn’t want any of this.”

 

He pauses, then looks over at Connor, who is even more unfairly beautiful against a backdrop of apple trees and bright blue sky. “There’s something else,” Evan adds. “She — the headmistress told me not to be friends with you. T-that you were a ‘troublemaker’.” 

 

He feels guilty the second the words cross his lips, something in Connor deflating at what he’s said, eyes gone icy like they’re back in the library again. “And do you agree with her?” There’s a hint of fragility in Connor’s tone, and Evan doesn’t miss it. 

 

“N-no,” Evan whispers. “I — I want to be friends with you.” 

 

The ice melts away, and all Evan can focus on is the warmth of the brown in Connor’s eyes. “Well, that’s good,” he says, smiling in a way that makes Evan’s heart flutter, “because I want to be friends with you too, Hansen.” 

 

And maybe Headmistress LeFavre will have him expelled for it, maybe this internship will turn out to be the worst thing he’s ever agreed to and Evan will regret ever stepping into that office, but — 

 

Right now, he doesn’t care.

 

Because _this_ , Connor and the orchard and the fact that they’re kind of sort of friends now — in this moment, _this_ is all that matters.

 

And Evan’s actually, temporarily, spontaneously, happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the amazing love and support as always. so grateful for you all.  
> xo,  
> L


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared laughs hollowly, the bitterness of it sending chills down Evan’s spine. “No offense, Evan, but you are the last fucking person who could even possibly help with this,” he says. “You can heal people, woo, fuckin’ spectacular, but the reality is that unless someone’s bleeding out in front of you—” Evan flinches at that, unwelcome memories springing up in his mind— “you’re utterly useless. And you’d never have the guts to fight against something as big as this anyway, so.”
> 
> “W-what are you talking about, Jared? Fight against what?” Evan’s head throbs more with every word.
> 
> Jared tosses his glasses onto the nightstand and levels Evan with a stare that makes his blood run cold. “Forget about it, Hansen. Just keep in mind that you’re not safe here. None of us are. My last roommate learned that the hard way because he forgot. You better fucking not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry about my prolonged absence, guys. i got caught up in this absolute beautiful monster of a fic that i completed with my friends HamiltonTrash and nosecoffee (titled "if only i could not see it" if you wanna check it out), and i know that's no excuse, but unfortunately that is the truth as to what happened. also, i'm now back in school, so that does make writing a bit difficult. however, i don't plan on abandoning this fic, and i'm trying to schedule out weekends to work on it. i don't wanna leave you guys in the lurch anymore.
> 
> no tw for this chapter.
> 
> as always, thanks for reading. much love!
> 
> xo,  
> L

_six._

According  to the slip of paper currently clutched in Evan’s hands, his internship is supposed to start the Friday after his meeting with Headmistress LeFavre. The paper had been delivered to his door Monday evening, and Evan’s worried over it all week, but maybe it wasn’t accurate to begin with, because he finds himself standing in an abandoned classroom, Dr. Bowers nowhere to be seen. 

 

His anxious brain works through several possible scenarios in a matter of moments. Maybe the headmistress has decided to kick him out anyway, and she’ll be coming to collect him any minute now, his disappointed mother waiting by the front entryway. Maybe Dr. Bowers looked at his past science grades from public school and decided he was too dumb to work with a scientist. Maybe Dr. Bowers has had a heart attack or something, and it happened when he was in his office grabbing some supplies and _oh god_ what if no one knows, and then what if Evan gets blamed because shouldn’t he have gone up to check on him by now — 

 

Just as Evan’s started to work himself into a panic, there’s a tap on his shoulder, and he nearly jumps a foot into the air at the unexpected contact. “If I hadn’t already read your file, I’d think your power was levitation,” a deep voice chuckles, and Evan turns to find an old man in a worn blazer and corduroys smiling pleasantly at him. So this must be Dr. Bowers — he’d been expecting an Albert Einstein, wild-haired lab-coat type, if he’s honest, but the grandfatherly scientist in front of him is much less confronting than the character Evan had conjured up. 

 

“Um, I— I have a file?” Evan stammers out, and the grin on Dr. Bowers’ face deepens as he throws his head back and laughs.

 

“Of course, Mr. Hansen, everyone here at LaSalle has a file,” he says, setting down a worn leather briefcase on a nearby table and beginning to unbuckle it. “How else would we keep track of you all?” 

 

Evan hopes the surprise and slight horror at that statement isn’t written all over his features like he thinks it might be. His mom’s always called him an open book, and while that only subjected him to mild bullying back home, somehow Evan gets the sense that here, it could have far deadlier consequences. 

 

“Anyway, we’re already running a little behind — my apologies — so let’s get started and try to power through, alright? I’m sure you’re tired, the first few weeks at LaSalle are always exhausting for students, and I don’t want to keep you too long on a Friday,” Dr. Bowers continues, and the warmth in his eyes has Evan thinking that maybe this won’t be so bad after all. Maybe he’ll actually get to be useful, help Dr. Bowers, help _someone_ , and maybe this all isn’t some nefarious plot constructed by Headmistress LeFavre, even if something about it still doesn’t feel quite right—

 

“Son?” Dr. Bowers clears his throat, and Evan startles, realizing he must have spaced out, just like he did in the dorm with Jared on his first day here. Lately, that’s been happening more and more often; he knows his therapist back home, Dr. Sherman, wouldn’t be super happy about it, but Evan hasn’t talked to him since he got to LaSalle. 

 

“S-sorry, Dr. Bowers—”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Evan. Now, shall we get to work?” 

 

——

It turns out that working with Dr. Bowers is nothing like the scenes of torture Evan’s nightmares have been sending his way all week. In fact, it feels less like an internship and more like a therapy session, Dr. Bowers asking him question after question about his background and coming into his power (Evan can’t help but flinch when the old man says, “ _So, tell me, Evan, what’s your story?_ ”), the two of them reviewing how he’d ended up at LaSalle and his time here so far. And best of all, Evan’s still out the door by 5:30, officially free to head back to his room and report to Jared, Zoe, Connor, and Alana on his experience (the latter part of this being at his roommate’s insistence).

 

Of course, the moment he walks through the door, Jared jumps on him. “How’d it go, Hansen? Break any beakers, spill any dangerous chemicals?” he questions. Evan can see the other boy eyeing him up-and-down, inspecting him carefully, like he thinks he’ll find something in the wrinkles of his polo or the ketchup stain from lunch on his khakis. 

 

“Lay off with the game of 20 Questions, Kleinman,” Connor calls from his perch on the end of the sofa, and Evan shoots him a tired but immensely grateful smile, Jared hovering close as he drops off his backpack by his bed and goes over to the sofa, where the rest of his friends are seated. Zoe and Alana are on the floor, Zoe settled in Alana’s lap with a serene smile on her face as the older girl weaves tiny braids into her hair. Connor’s legs take up a good ninety-five percent of the tiny sofa, so Evan chooses to sit criss-cross-applesauce on the floor next to the girls, holding back a laugh as he watches a scowling Jared pick a spot on the sofa as far away as possible from Connor.

 

“Was it as terrifying as you’d anticipated, Evan?” Alana asks, finishing one of Zoe’s braids with a little contented hum.

 

“Um, no, it actually wasn’t that bad,” he says, frowning slightly as a dull ache in his temples suddenly makes itself known. He must be getting sick — he got headaches a lot as a kid, thanks to some sort of weird susceptibility to sinus infections, but those who have come into their powers don’t often fall ill, so it’s a little bizarre. Then again, he also seems to be the only Powered kid at LaSalle who can actually get drunk, so yet another difference marking him as an outcast isn’t all that far-fetched. 

 

Connor apparently notices the change in his demeanor — or, more likely, the way he’s rubbing at his temples — and sits up, leaning forward so his hand rests on Evan’s shoulder. “You okay?” he says, so quietly Evan’s pretty sure he’s the only one who can hear him. He shifts, and Connor’s fingers just barely brush the small expanse of bare skin by the edge of his shirt collar, but Evan doesn’t mind, finding the taller boy’s presence more comforting than anything else. He relaxes into Connor’s touch, and for a moment, he forgets about the pounding in his head, the calming knowledge that, somehow, everything is going to be okay washing over him.

 

He’s quickly pulled back into reality when, behind him, Jared coughs and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “ _That’s totally heterosexual_.” Connor’s fingers instantly disappear, and Evan’s headache returns in full force.

 

“Uh, well,” Alana says, clearing her throat, “that’s good. Maybe things won’t be as awful as they’d seemed, Evan. In any case, it’s Friday, and Zoe and I have been in stuck in here with those two—” she gestures to Connor and Jared— “and their bickering for a good hour and a half now, so assuming you all aren’t opposed to it, I’d like to suggest a little field trip to the dining hall. I’m beyond thirsty.”

 

Zoe nods in agreement, hopping to her feet and letting out a loud yawn as she stretches, while Connor reluctantly makes his way to the door, Alana and Zoe doing the same a few moments later. Evan heads over to his backpack to grab his ID card, his stomach growling to remind him that he hasn’t eaten since noon, but it’s only as he shoves the card into his pocket and zips up his bag back up that he notices Jared’s lingering, still curled up on the sofa. Alana, Zoe, and Connor are already halfway down the hallway, oblivious.

 

“Jared? Um, are — are you coming?” Evan asks tentatively, chest tightening at the stormy look on his roommate’s face. 

 

Jared rises from the sofa, closing the distance between them, and Evan suddenly can’t read the expression on the other boy’s face anymore. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?” he whispers.

 

Then, in a split second, he’s back to normal, a smirk on his face as he jogs out the door to catch up with the others and calls out some off-color taunt to Connor, and Evan doesn’t really understand anything that just happened except the awful, _awful_ nauseous feeling he suddenly has about it all.

 

He doesn’t have time to process it, though. His head and stomach throb in unison, and he’s vaguely aware of the sound of his name floating in from the hallway, and so he closes the door behind him and goes to join his friends. 

 

But as he leaves, he can’t help but notice that the scratches on the door seem to stand out more vividly than before.

 

——

For all the hunger pangs he’d experienced in his room, the second Evan gets to the dining hall, his appetite vanishes. The concern in Zoe’s eyes is evident when he gets halfway through the line and still hasn’t put any food on his tray, though, so he picks up a cranberry muffin, a box of yogurt-covered raisins, and a bottle of water to dodge the otherwise-inevitable questions. And now here he sits, mouth uncomfortably dry as he tries to shove bits of muffin down his throat, all too aware of Zoe’s gaze on him. His leg is bouncing; he can’t stop it, his nervous energy always finding a way to present itself when the words won't (or can’t) come out.

 

“Evan, can you stop, you’re shaking the entire fucking table,” Jared complains. Evan’s cheeks heat at being called out, but he does his best to still any movement. To his left, Connor directs a withering glare the shorter boy’s way.

 

Evan likes his friends — he could write an entire novel on how happy he is to have them — but for some reason, dinner seems to drag by at an agonizing pace tonight, and by 6:30, he’s more than ready to get out of there, visions of the relative peace of isolation and his bed dancing through his head. At first, he plans on just slipping away after they’re finished, but when Zoe suggests going to the common room for a _Harry Potter_ marathon, Evan knows he has to speak up.

 

“I-I’m sorry, guys, but I’m r-really tired and I don’t feel so great, s-so I think I’m gonna go to bed,” he says, putting every ounce of courage that he has into his words. His anxiety is a nasty but constant companion, spitting doubt at him the moment the sentence leaves his mouth. _They’re gonna be offended, they’re gonna think you’re bailing on them for something better, they’ll be mad, they won’t want to be friends with you anymore and why would they—_

 

“Okay, Evan.” Alana’s tone holds nothing but warmth, and Zoe’s face becomes etched with smile lines as she flashes a grin at him. 

 

“Actually, you know I’d normally be down for HP any day, but I’m gonna have to second Hansen here. Turns out Biology of Shapeshifters is surprisingly exhausting,” Jared says, getting up to toss his garbage in the trash. “I’ll see you fuckers tomorrow.” Then he’s gone, disappearing through the double doors, and Evan’s left with an uncomfortable pit in his stomach.

 

“Um, okay — bye, guys,” he says, standing up as well, like Jared leaving was his cue, knuckles white against the red of his tray. The majority of the muffin is still there, along with the entire box of raisins, though his bottle of water is long emptied. 

 

Connor jerks his chin in what Evan assumes is a goodbye nod, and Zoe chirps, “Sleep well!” as he departs.

 

But Evan knows he won’t be sleeping.

 

——

The sight of Jared Kleinman crying into his pillow is absolutely one of the last things Evan had ever expected to stumble upon, and yet that’s exactly the scene he encounters when he returns from the dining hall.

 

It’s so shocking that he stands there for a good thirty seconds, temporarily stunned, mouth gaping like he’s a fish thrown out of water, struggling to process what he sees before him. Jared’s red-faced, tears streaming down his cheeks, smearing snot across his pillow as he shoves his face into it, letting out little hiccuping sobs that kind of break Evan’s heart. His fists are curled, like he’s ready to punch the first person who tries to talk to him, and that in and of itself is enough to make Evan wary of approaching.

 

“Oh gosh, uh — Jared, are you okay?” Evan manages to say once he regains the ability to form a sentence. Cautious, he takes a hesitant step toward his roommate’s bed, and Jared's head snaps up, the other boy instantly recoiling at Evan’s presence.

 

“Yeah, Hansen, I’m just fucking peachy, can’t you tell,” he hisses, his bloodshot eyes making the blue of his irises stand out in scarily vivid contrast behind his glasses. Something about him seems wild, like he’s a caged animal fully prepared to lash out at any given moment, his hair sticking up in messy spikes from where Evan would guess he’s probably run his hands through it. 

 

Evan has never seen Jared this vulnerable. And he’d gladly admit that he has no idea how to deal with this, but obviously he can’t tell Jared that, and he gets the feeling that Jared doesn’t want Zoe, Alana, or, God forbid, Connor to see him like this, so, Evan recognizes with a sinking heart, he’s on his own here. 

 

“Is everything okay?” Evan asks, perching on the edge of his own bed so he’s directly across from Jared.

 

Jared shrugs, shoving the pillow away from him and wiping at his tears with the back of his hand. “Does it matter?” he mumbles, taking off his glasses to clean them with the hem of his shirt. 

 

“Y-yes, yes it does if I can help you at all, or m-maybe make it any better,” Evan argues.

 

Jared laughs hollowly, the bitterness of it sending chills down Evan’s spine. “No offense, Evan, but you are the last fucking person who could even possibly help with this,” he says. “You can heal people, woo, fuckin’ spectacular, but the reality is that unless someone’s bleeding out in front of you—” Evan flinches at that, unwelcome memories springing up in his mind— “you’re utterly useless. And you’d never have the guts to fight against something as big as this anyway, so.”

 

“W-what are you talking about, Jared? Fight against what?” Evan’s head throbs more with every word.

 

Jared tosses his glasses onto the nightstand and levels Evan with a stare that makes his blood run cold. “Forget about it, Hansen. Just keep in mind that you’re not safe here. None of us are. My last roommate learned that the hard way because he forgot. You better fucking not.”

 

Before Evan can ask him what he means, before he can allow the tendrils of anxiety spreading through his chest to take over and send him into a full-blown panic attack, before he can even get _one_ freaking answer out of his roommate — Jared switches off the light, sending them into darkness, and rolls over in his bed so that his back is facing Evan.

 

“Jared?” Evan whispers.

 

Jared doesn’t respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOH the drama
> 
> and yay for ambiguous-sounding shit 
> 
> poor jared, i'm sorry bud
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed. please comment and let me know if you did! sending y'all my love.
> 
> xo,  
> L


End file.
